The Billionaire’s Secret (His Submissive #6)(5)
Author: Ava Claire

“Not here,” she said quickly. She shot up, suddenly remembering she had actual contact with something in the room. “I feel like I need a tetanus shot and a round of antibiotics just because I’ve been breathing the air.”

She wouldn’t get any argument from me. Still, I wasn’t excited about facing my mother. “So just bite the bullet and go home.”

“You’re forgetting Option C.” She pointed her thumb at herself.

“Stay with you?” My eyes widened.

I’d been to Megan’s studio dozens of times and still managed to be amazed at what she could do with five hundred square feet.

“The couch is relatively comfortable,” she answered brightly. “And it’s yours as long as you need it.”

I didn’t know what to say. Remorse sullied the happiness as I looked at her and didn’t see a trace of resentment or pause at my abrupt departure and lack of contact. “I’m sorry that I didn’t call you while I was out of the country.”

“Water under the bridge,” she replied, putting it to rest. “I know you were otherwise occupied. And in Italy.” She twisted her mouth into a smirk. “Seriously, if you would have been glued to the phone while you were in Italy, I would have had to fly in and smack you for being crazy.”

“But we’re best friends,” I said, not letting myself off the hook. “Sisters before Misters.”

Megan let out a snort/laugh combo and when it became full on laughter, I tried and failed to not laugh myself.

“I can’t believe you said that with a straight face,” she snickered, swiping the tears from her eyes.

‘Sisters before Misters’ had become our motto in college. Our duo used to be more like a fivesome and then one by one, a friend would get a boyfriend and fall off the face of the earth.

One Saturday night we were sitting outside the movie theater, cancellation texts coming in one after the other until we were the last two standing. Megan had been the one to say it back then, somber expression and all. Since then, it had just been the two of us, being each other’s rock as we struggled to find jobs after graduating, confiding in each other. Showing up no matter what.

“You hungry?” she asked.

My stomach answered with a hungry growl. “Apparently.”

I followed her out the door, waiting until her back was turned to power on my cell, hoping that maybe there’d be something in my inbox from Jacob. I saw the envelope highlighted and my heart lurched to my throat only to plummet back down when I saw it wasn’t from Jacob.

“Mrs. Joy?” I said aloud, reading the name of one of the lead publicists on staff. Why would she be texting me?

Megan stopped beside her Camry, concern narrowing her gaze.

My throat constricted, but I steadied my voice. “Just a work thing.” I plastered on a smile. “Is it okay if I just meet you at your apartment in a few hours?”

She tried to tempt me with pecan waffles before admitting defeat. I slid behind the wheel of my car, putting the phone on speaker and starting the engine.

“Mrs. Joy? I’m on way to the office now. I’d love your help dealing with the photographer.”

****

I looked like a hot mess, even after I combed my curls into a bun and put on a little bit of gloss and mascara. I buttoned up my blazer to hide the red stain of B+J on my blouse, but there was no masking the wrinkle of my clothing.

When Jacob told me about the private entrance at Whitmore and Creighton, I’d always scoffed. Since I was currently rocking I Obviously Wore This Yesterday chic, it was just what the doctor ordered. I slipped in virtually undetected and took the elevator to the PR floor.

There were only a couple of people in the cubicles, in their zone and paying no attention to me. I scanned the floor, pausing when I saw light filtering from the corner office. I walked briskly in that direction, my stomach still complaining about passing on breakfast.

Mrs. Joy sat behind her desk, chomping on what smelled like the most delicious flatbread pizza ever. She had a cell cradled on her shoulder and dark eyes locked on the screen of the computer until they flitted to the doorway where I stood. She beckoned me to come in, flashing me a smile as warm as her surroundings.

Where Jacob’s office and penthouse were all style with cool lines and sleek furnishings, hers was warm and homey. She had her blinds removed and replaced with sheer curtains that let the sunshine in, breathing life into the plants perched on stands. There was an off white armchair that seemed perfect for curling up in. Her desk had an antique finish punctuated by photos of smiling faces and exotic locations. I sat down in a cozy high back chair, realizing I’d been wrong about her, thinking she was as cold as Natasha and Missy since she’d barely said two words to me since I’d been back.

She finished the rest of her conversation, her French impressive, especially since the extent of my vocabulary was ‘bon jour’ and ‘au revoir’.

She rose from her chair, extending her hand. “Thanks so much for coming in. Is it okay if I call you Leila?”

I was taken aback, surprised because everyone else just called me that by default. Even as Jacob’s assistant, my place was still relatively low on the totem pole.

I shook her hand heartily. “Leila’s just fine.”

“And you can call me Claudia,” she said with a kind smile. “It’s nice to see you before an incident and not after.”

I thought back to Rachel’s phony suicide attempt and Mrs. Joy’s frantic, worried gaze. She was still way more together than I would have been facing Jacob when he was angry. And even though our circumstances were less than ideal, I’d seen enough episodes of PR to know that when shit hit the fan, you wanted Claudia Joy in your corner.

“Can I get you anything?” she asked. “Something to eat or drink?”

I had to force myself to not blurt out ‘YES!’ but she gave me a half smirk and offered me a slice and passed me a bottle of water. I scarfed it down before I had time to be embarrassed.

“Jacob called me early this morning.”

From the way she said early, I wondered if he called her after I finally succumbed to sleep at 3am. “Sorry.”

“Oh you don’t have to apologize,” she wiped the slate clean with a flick of her wrist. “We don’t really work in a vacuum. We’re needed when we’re needed.” She leaned back in her chair. “He didn’t seem to know much more besides the photographer snapped a picture of you kissing Cade Wallace.”